


Little Black Dress

by witkneec



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: But seriously this is just porn, Dirty Talk, F/F, Femslash, Little Black Dress, marathon smut, plotless smut, waverly is (kind of) totally a top, zippers are sexy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-19 08:51:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7354195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witkneec/pseuds/witkneec
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the words lodge in your throat and sputter out uselessly. Because she’s reaching out with a light laugh and grabbing your hand with her own warm one and pulling you into the warmth of the apartment which is a welcome reprieve from the cold and you’re sputtering because you finally look at the full form of her. She begins to speak, you think, to explain her attire (the words undercover and party echo in your head) but you can’t be certain of anything because holy shitballs-</p><p>-</p><p>Or, Nicole is wearing a dress and Waverly just can't help herself. Pre-relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Black Dress

Little Black Dress  
Waverly/ Haught  
Rating: So so so so M. Like 13 pages of it. These things always start out as an innocent one shot and then explode. Meh. I’m not sorry.

Author’s note: 1x09 up to the car convo happened. Kiss never happened. I also started writing this before 1x11 so none of that has happened. Basically this is an AU of how they got together. I’m not quite sure I got the characterization right as far as Waverly and Nicole are concerned but oh well. This is my first foray, I’ll probably eventually get the voice right. Anyway, let me know what you think.  
-  
You’re trudging heavily up the flight of stairs toward a door that you barely recollected (having only been there the one time, fleetingly, to let Nicole change before a date that neither one of you actually ever called a date because, you know, it totally wasn’t and, really, any hope of anything more was now dead in the water due to your whole “just friends” comment) but recognized all the same as your eyes meet the red of the painted wood and you elevate yourself with every hard and heavy step.  
Your hand is up and ready to rap upon its surface when it swings open without a word.

You’re in the middle of an apology due to the late hour and the whole texting out of the blue and what not, your eyes skirting the length of the hallway because you’re embarrassed enough that you have trouble meeting her eyes, when the words lodge in your throat and sputter out uselessly. Because she’s reaching out with a light laugh and grabbing your hand with her own warm one and pulling you into the warmth of the apartment which is a welcome reprieve from the cold and you’re sputtering because you finally look at the full form of her. She begins to speak, you think, to explain her attire (the words undercover and party echo in your head) but you can’t be certain of anything because holy shitballs-

Nicole Haught is wearing a dress that you can only describe as the definition of little and black, her already tall form even more so from the simple pair of black patent heels that encase her feet. And God- the way the lack of fabric and the heels join forces to make her legs look-

She’s releasing your hand so she can turn and speak and you’re trying really, really hard to focus on the words and you think that it’s almost a miracle that you can barely function at all given the circumstances. The words that she’s speaking finally become something other than static as you finally snap your eyes to her face after a few long moments. 

“-so, anyway, I’m going to change and then we can talk, if you want? Or not- I’ve got some whiskey if we need to watch trash t.v. and drink about it. Just give me a few. If you’re hungry and can find anything in the kitchen, it’s all yours.”

She leaves you with a slightly bashful smile, disappearing behind the soft click of what you can only assume is the bedroom door. When she does, you take the moment to let out a long, long breath, running a shaky hand through your hair and trying to grasp ahold of what little self-control you can muster all the while weighing your options.

You could make a lame excuse and go- thus cementing your fate to never act on the honesty that Gus seems to think you’ve always possessed- or you could stay and fight the attraction that you’re currently wondering why you’re fighting at all.

Both are dangerous, both are almost unthinkable and-

The door creaks open and your eyes go wide, head shooting up as you look up at the redheaded officer, expecting to see her in something more comfortable- but instead you’re greeted with the familiar and welcomed sight of the black material, her appearance almost unchanged. The heels no longer adorn her feet, the steady clack against the hardwood traded for the soft padding of bare feet. She now only slightly looms over you, your chin almost even with her neck. Almost the perfect height, maybe, for you to stand and wrap your hands around her waist and tuck your head into the crook of it- 

Nicole smiles once more at you in greeting and you find yourself smiling back, although a little nervously.

“I- uh- can’t get the zip.”

The words register in your brain and your already pounding heart starts trying to makes its way out of your chest, the pulse of it throbbing all the way up into your throat. Surely she wasn’t suggesting-

You watch as she turns. You try like hell to keep your eyes off of where the black fabric strains over her backside just so-

“Could you maybe-?”

The implication is clear. You don’t speak, it feels, for minutes. The silence stretches between you both and you open your mouth and try to speak, try to say anything- but then you don’t really need to because your body is moving toward her, the sound of your boots padding softly toward her so loud in the apartment.

You stop mere inches from her, close enough to smell the sweet, deep scent of her perfume, the finishing spray, lightly coconut, she’d spritzed onto her hair.

Shaking hands find their way, thoughtlessly, wordlessly, toward the zipper. 

Or you think they intend to. Both of them land on her shoulders instead, settling there softly. 

You think you feel her, hear her, give a soft gasp but you can’t be sure.

You’re positive she does when they slip down her shoulders to her bare and defined biceps, her forearms, her wrists. Your fingertips brush her fingertips and you gasp yourself as the ends of them lock slightly together, the action causing your body to inch closer still, your theory mere moments before about how you were the perfect height to reach her neck being proving true as your nose finds the source of the smell as you bury it in the back of her head, the soft tendrils of the hair at the base of her skull.

You break the hold you have on her hands to travel the short distance to her hips. You feel her body push back into yours and feel yourself breathe harshly into her ever warming skin.

Your hands begin the slow climb up her sides, your fingers splaying her ribs, delighting in the rapid up and down you feel there as her breath also comes in ragged spurts. You’re so caught up in your newfound fascination with the feel of her that you almost don’t realize when she’s speaking.

“Waverly,” she’s whispering, “Waverly, what are you doing? God, what are we doing?”

You don’t say anything, the words causing you to look up. You were intent at first on answering her query; instead you find yourself enraptured with the flesh of Nicole’s shoulder, licking your lips and glancing at the side of her face, the only part of it you can see.  
You take a moment to study the way her eyes are closed tightly, the way her body tingles underneath your hands, the way her lips strain and her teeth bite at the plumpness of her bottom one.

And then you’re whispering a quiet “oh, fuck” against the part of her where her neck slopes gracefully into her shoulder before your lips are puckering against the skin.

And God, you really don’t know what you’re doing but now that you’ve felt her, smelled her, tasted her, now that you know the true force of not only the wanting but the getting, you can’t stop- you don’t fucking want to.

This gasp is loud, ragged. The ass you had been admiring earlier pushes into your stomach and you moan at the feeling. Your hands are drifting further up the planes of her body, gripping tight, delighting in the shudder the touch elicits.

A couple of wet desperate breaths against the spot and then you’re opening your mouth against her. She shudders with the first scrape of your teeth. Her knees tremble when your introduce your tongue, retreating from the spot you had been occupying to skirt it up the slope of her neck, stretching on your tiptoes to swipe at the lobe of her ear. She’s pushing her hips back into you in an even rhythm now, her right arm now stretched behind her, her fingers clutching you to her by your own hip. You find your way back to the spot you’d been laving attention to, your own eyes closing as she grinds back into a particularly sensitive part of you. The spike of pleasure takes you by surprise and you snap your eyes open a moment later when her own loud cry of pleasure echoes sharply against the walls of the room.

The arm clutching at your hip is suddenly buried in your hair, clutching you to her, and it’s only then that you discover that your teeth have sunk themselves deep into the skin there, the shock of it causing your hips to rut desperately into the back of her.

“Oh God,” she’s gasping, eyes shut tightly with what you hope is want, “Waverly!”

This time it’s in response to the release of the flesh, the laving of your tongue in a repentant swipe to soothe the darkening and indented surface.

“Waverly,” she’s repeating, and you’re humming against her skin, focused on the task, “Waverly, what happened to friends?”  
And then you’re shaking your head against her and panting out a ragged, “I don’t want to be friends,” one hand drifting up the side of her face and rooting itself deep in her hair and the other cupping a straining breast. You don’t know what the hell you’re doing but you, this, her, it all feels so right and now more than ever, you know what you want, who you want, and goddammit you owe It to yourself, to this gorgeous woman in front of you, to finally be honest with who you are and what you really desire. So it’s with breathy broken words and straining toes that you whisper into her ear.

“Of all the things I could do in the whole world, Nicole, the one thing I want to do most, is you.”

A beat and then you’re squeezing her breast and pushing yours hips hard against her and gripping her hair tight and twisting the tendrils in your fingers as you pull, hard, until her head is almost laying on your shoulder so you can swallow her broken cry with your own mouth before it can reach the open air. You don’t even give her a moment before you’re slipping your tongue into her mouth, flicking it over hers once and then twice before retreating to take a ragged inhale.

Once she really registers your words, registers the action, she fucking goes for it, her lips pressing rapidly upon yours over and over again. Her desperate teeth find your bottom lip and bite down with a sharp sting. She only releases it once you whimper into her mouth, her tongue swiping over the kiss swollen skin, only to beg for entry once more seconds later.

It’s deep and messy and honestly the angle is a little awkward but goddammit if it isn’t the hottest moment of your life. Kissing has never felt this good before, the want has never been this consuming-

Your heart lurches in your chest when she wrenches her mouth away from your own. Your eyes open in shock, your mouth, too, and you go to say something- an apology, a plea, you don’t know- but you don’t get the chance because her intention, to your delight, is not to stop but to simply shift around so you are now face to face with her. Your mouth is dry and you’re certain that you’re gaping unattractively but she doesn’t seem to notice, smiling so wide before sinking her hands once more into your hair and meeting your open mouth with her stretched one. 

This- you think- this is so much better.

You wind your arms around her neck, sigh in contentment as hers find their place around your waist, underneath the thinness of the t-shirt you have on, the heavy coat you had once been wearing lost somewhere around the time you’d realized it was constricting your movement and the feel of her body against yours. 

You sink into the feeling of her mouth on your own, her tongue flicking and stroking over yours and your hands find the zip you had once been tasked with unfastening when her mouth abandons yours to nip and lick a path down the warm skin of your neck.

You gasp, your eyes slamming shut, the thin metal zip snaking down little by little, almost thoughtlessly, as her tongue whips up your ear, her warm mouth envelops your earlobe and sucks. You’re panting into the open air and your body is rutting thoughtlessly into hers and you’re saying her name and it sounds like a plea because is it and she must recognize the desperation in your tone because she’s nodding and returning her lips to yours in a bruising kiss and guiding you backwards until your back is against a hard surface. 

The wall, you register momentarily, but that doesn’t seem to matter because she’s wedging you against it and hooking your leg up and over her hip and pressing just so- and you’re crying out and holy fuck the pleasure of it jolts down your spine and spikes into your toes until you’re on the tip of the one foot that is actually on the ground. You’re panting into her mouth and burying your hands into her hair and coasting them over her back and sides and you can’t get enough, can’t feel enough-

And then your heart bottoms out because you realize that the fabric of her dress is falling away, the zip almost all the way down and you would normally take a moment to congratulate yourself and your lithe fingers but Nicole, so wrapped up in the feel and the taste of you, barely notices, swiping at the offending article until it begins to drop. Your grasping hands assist the failing garment, your hands wrenching the fabric of the dress and the deep blue bra straps down her shoulders in one fell swoop.

“Waves,” she’s growling low into your mouth, “Waves- are you, are you sure? Because we can- we can talk about this-“

Her breath hitches as you pull her lip into your mouth and bite down with your teeth in retaliation for her earlier actions.

“-God, we should talk about this. I don’t want to do anything you’re- you’re not ready for.”

And you’re touched, really, you are, by her kindness and consideration but goddammit you’re so turned on you can barely think and she’s here and she’s almost already half naked and you want nothing more than to finish undressing her before you touch her and taste her until she comes undone.

So you settle with shaking your head and smiling at her once you break the kiss to focus in on the work that you have done so far.  
The straps of her bra hang limply over her shoulders and the black of the dress is bunched around her waist and her chest- your eyes flutter over her breasts, your tongue flicking out to meet the dryness of your lips- because the word heaving (thanks to a thousand romance novels you certainly hadn’t consumed between classics written in their native tongue) comes to mind and if you hadn’t wanted to get the woman before you naked before- well, the sight of her panting and nearly bare, it cements the burning desire.

A moan rips out of your lips as you find hers with yours once more, tongue slipping directly into her waiting mouth, as your hands go back to her sides, the fabric of the dress slinking slowly down her hips. You don’t look but rather feel the moment it gives way, falling to pool around her feet at the floor. Your hands follow the motion, slipping down from her shoulders to splay both hands around her waist, your fingers scraping down until you’re gripping her hips and pulling her into you.

And she’s pushing into you and in a moment has you just as you were moments ago, your leg hitched around her hip, but this time, your hands won’t stop moving and touching, your fingers cutting a dark red path down her spine, and you’re relishing the hiss and the buck of her hips that accompanies the motion. And she’s tugging your hair and plundering your mouth with ragged, sloppy kisses and you know- this is a moment that will redefine you, crack you open and expose parts of you never knew existed- but there’s also a part of you that knows that if you let her, Nicole is the just the person to put you back together.

And you’re moving all of a sudden, your lust addled brain barely registering the motion, your body shoving against hers until her mouth breaks against yours, your eyes opening to meet her own shocked ones before she’s tumbling down, her knees even and then collapsing with the sharp edge of her mattress, and you take a moment, letting her fall away from you, watch as she settles on her elbows with a bitten lip and a hungry graze over your form, and then you’re following her down, pressing your body against her body, her plush lips against your lips, your thigh slipping in between her thighs. 

Her eyes are boring into yours, her lips forming into an ‘o’ as you shift your hips, pressing your leg ever closer into the vee of her legs, into the warm and God, wet, so so wet, flesh in-between her legs that you can feel even through your jeans and the dark blue lace of her underwear. Her eyes are hooded and her lip is trapped between her those white teeth, and she’s trying hard not to let her lids slip closed with every hard and steady thrust of your body into hers. 

But you want her to get lost in this- all of this- the steady back and forth of your hips, they heady sound of her and you, your breath, mingling and puffing out into the thin air of the bedroom. So you take a moment to lean all of your weight on your right arm and take your left hand to her face, cupping the side of her jaw, forefinger and thumb coming out to trace her full, damp bottom and top lips; the feel of her gasping out at the motion, her eyes open and her brow furrowed with wanting, making your own breath stop in your lungs, the sight of her- breasts heaving in the pale light of the bedroom, humid breath spilling over your reverent fingers- it snaps something inside of you. 

You surge your lips right back to hers, hips canting now in an almost savage motion, devouring every heady moan bursting out of her mouth, every vibration of every need gasp felt like a shock upon your tongue.

You grasp her left leg, taking your hand away from her face, and wrap it around your waist. Watch in fascination as you pull away with a pant, the way that the flush rises from her chest up, the pink of her delighting you to no end. 

You start back at the flesh you’d laved with attention earlier, kiss the spot where you know she’s probably going to have a slight hickey, and then begin to descend to the start of the redhead’s blush.

You begin to scrape against her clavicle, suck down the slope of her breast, stopping just above where the lightly freckled skin descends below dark lace.

And she’s breathing out a strangled, “Jesus Christ, Waverly!” but at the same time her hands have found the back of your head and she’s pushing up and into your mouth, your teasing tongue, and you’re panting against her because all you want to do is get her bare and writhing underneath you.

A slight shout and an insistent roll of her hips breaks you out of your revere and you smile against her when you revise your thought.  
Bare and writhing more against you. But whatever. You might be a planner but you’ve been known to improvise a time or two.  
You’re reaching a slightly shaky hand up and then under her, your brain really only able to comprehend two words and their accompanying actions: bra, underwear, take, and off.

But your searching and tasting and curious tongue is slightly impaired because holy shit her hands are suddenly grasping either side of your t shirt and pulling you up and she’s shifting and making it so she’s no longer laying but sitting up, her back against the large oak headboard of her bed. And she’s pulling your hips up until you’re up on your knees and straddling her hips, and the quick change has your mind spinning but she meets your shocked face and gaping mouth with a dazzling grin, breathing a giddy “hi” before meeting your lips once more.

And then she’s ghosting her warm fingertips along the edge of your shirt and mumbling a soft “can I?” and you’re nodding and trying to help her pull it off, you’re certain, before the words ever even really register in your brain. And her moan radiates off of the roof of your mouth and from the tip of her tongue onto yours and she breaks the heady kiss to separate enough so she can take you in. Her teeth catch a swollen lip. Her eyes, if possible, get even darker, even more glassy than before.

And at some point in her perusal, her left hand winds in your hair and the other splays along your back, fingers clenching, and you both breathe for a moment- just breathe, hard and heavy and sure- before she’s yanking at your hair and biting at your neck in what you’re sure is a retaliatory motion and God your hips are pushing down into hers and all you can think of is how good this feels, how hot and ready and God- how much you want her-

And you’re getting warm but you don’t want to stop, not for a moment, not for anything , so you let her suck at your pulse point, bite down the smooth column of your neck and- God- palm at your own lace covered breast with a needy palm for long, long moments until you can’t take it anymore and then- God-

Her hands are at the button and zip of your jeans and it’s like she knows- knows how much you need this. Knows how much you need it all-

A blur as you’re standing on legs that feel like those stupid, flimsy matchsticks that they give out in books at Shorty’s.  
A chuckle from you both as you stumble a bit. A gasp as they finally, finally drift down your legs into a pool on the floor, aided by a kicking foot.

And you’re settling down upon her once more, her hungry eyes following every move and you’re not even settled fully into the cradle of her hips when you reach for her and slip your tongue directly into her mouth, twisting it with hers. And when she pulls the straps on your bra down around your shoulders, you don’t even blink, don’t allow the panic you were sure would possess you when this moment finally came, to grip you, and instead reach back steadfast and sure palms, unhooking it with practiced ease. 

You don’t stop kissing her. Even through her fluttering eyes, intent on a glimpse of your exposed chest. Even through trembling jaws and fumbling hands. You find hers in the darkness, smile against lips puffing with arousal, urgency, and move them to your chest, swallowing the groan that you feel when her hands begin to take the lead, palming the breasts with soft and searching palms, dexterous fingers.

Your lips disconnect at the first tweak of your nipple, at the first “Nicole!” that leaves your lips. 

And then your eyes are closing and your breath is gone because she’s abandoned your lips and your neck to suck at the top of your right breast and then palm your left. And then-holy fucking Christ- then her tongue is circling your nipple and her hand is drifting from your hair to push and palm between your shoulder blades and your hands are tightening in your hair and this is so much better than in ever has been before.

You strangle out a curse when she switches positions, fingers tweaking the now damp right of your nipple before engulfing the second stiff peak with her mouth. Your hips jolt down hard when the tip of her tongue finds the distended nub, pressings, before her mouth suddenly sucks, hard, her tongue lapping one twice before her teeth are scraping and you swear to God you’re so close already, your body tightening with every sudden motion oh her mouth. 

And then she’s backing away and you’re whimpering because you want her and you want to come and want to make her come but all of this- it’s making you dizzy and it’s all you can do to kiss her back when she crashes her damp lips into yours, her body pressed as close it can possibly get, her hands winding in your hair. And it’s so sloppy, all tongue and very little finesse, but you just don’t care, your hips still working in their now mindless, circular motion. You whimper when she breaks the kiss and moves to the skin behind your ear, her lips puckering and pressing an open mouthed kiss there once, twice, before she’s breathing ragged, wrecked breaths into your ear and trying to speak. It takes a moment before you’re registering husky, sex soaked words.

“Waverly. I want to-“

A stuttered moan as you rub against the dark, wet spot that has begun to form on her underwear.

“I want to be inside you. I want- God, can I? Can I- can I- taste you?”

The words hit you low in your belly and you’re nodding so vigorously and moaning out your complete and total agreement and it feels like all of the liquid in your body has drained itself down in-between your legs but you don’t care, the only thing you care about is-  
The thoughts leave your mind, everything does when you suddenly find yourself on your back and her scraping fingers are gliding along the insides of your thighs to pull your soaked and ruined underwear down and you can’t breathe. You don’t know what you’re doing and you can’t breathe but it’s all over- it’s all over and you know that there is no going back from this when she draws your leg up, rising up on her knees to loom over you so she can meet your eyes with hers, and kisses the skin of your calf so softly, so sweetly, right before she finally drags the lace up and over it before discarding the underwear somewhere on the floor. 

Then, she just looks at you. And it makes your chest hurt because it’s different than how anyone has ever looked at you. You’re used to being devoured predatorily with darkening eyes and rough grabbing hands but this, the way she just peers at you, your breasts, the glistening part of you between your thighs, the way her eyes drift up the flat expanse of your stomach before settling at your face with a soft and satisfied, beautiful, look, it makes your heart constrict and your throat close up and this, you know, she- has just changed everything for you.

And then you’re done looking and waiting and you’re meeting her down rushing lips with your own forward rushing ones and she’s following you down, down, down into the mattress, your body sinking into the sheets, her hands drifting over your hips, your stomach, the insides of your thighs, before she’s settling over you, her still covered breasts and center pressing into your bare body.  
You gasp into her mouth as the sensation spikes in your body, as it travels only to rest between your legs. A strong leg finds its way between your own and you’re moaning around her thrashing tongue as she pushes up and into you, the wetness of you immediately coating her thigh.

She breaks the kiss and wrenches her mouth from yours, her own loud moan breaking into the air as she feels you wet and warm and wanting, bare for the first time.

“Waverly,” she whispering, her panting breath finding the side your neck, her teeth scraping the pulse point that throbs especially hard when she beings to move of her own accord, your body mindlessly working with hers as the pleasure begins to build with every rut of her strong thigh against your clit.

“You feel- God, you feel…”

And you’re rasping a “yeah, you too,” because Jesus Christ does she ever. The softness of her, the length and the warmth of her make your stomach bottom out, your hips churn in a steady clockwise motion against the hard length of her, chasing the pleasure she seems to illicit in you with every slight and simple tip of her hips. And it’s good- so, so, good. 

But it’s not enough and your hands find the back of her head and bury themselves in the deep lush red of her hair and you drag her lips back to hers, relishing in the hard, labored breaths that spill into your own open and aching mouth. You watches as she mindlessly purses her lips and you wait until the last possible moment to pull away slightly, a small, smug smile tinging your lips as she opens her glassy eyes with a slight frown.

You don’t answer at first, simply give a shake of your head before dipping your eyes deliberately to hers and then you’re capturing a plump and trembling bottom lip between your teeth and delighting in the whimper it draws. You follow the indent of your teeth with your tongue, flicking soothingly over the sting.

Her hips drive harder into yours, almost making you forget the point of pulling her away from your neck in the first place. You don’t want to beg, don’t want to sound as desperate as you actually are for her- all of her, every last delicious bit- but you don’t know how to get what you want without asking or telling her so it’s with a racing heart and trembling fingers on the officer’s face that the words spill out of your lips.

“Nicole- you said you wanted to touch me. Isn’t that what you said? Touch me and- and taste me, yeah? What are you waiting for, baby? “

The words, though you speak them yourself, leave you flustered and the look on her face when they hit the frenzied air between you doesn’t help with the feeling. 

And she’s groaning and catching your lips in a quick kiss before nodding and then her right hand is gone, drifting down your body and coasting over your breasts, the flat plane of your stomach before coming to rest between your thighs, finally, finally touching the part of you that throbs as her eyes lock onto yours, refusing to break contact even as your head tries to pitch back, your eyes close, and then her fingers are slip sliding along the length of you, dragging upwards to focus pressure on your clit, circling once and then twice before drifting back to your opening, stroking softly there for a moment, her eyes searching yours for something, it seems, some sort of sign or whatever but you want her inside of you more than you’ve ever wanted anything and you just need her to move that little bit closer-

Words are spilling out of your lips and you’re sort of shocked by their tone- desperate, pleading, all grit and gravel- and you’re really not even aware of what you’re saying but it doesn’t really matter because she’s moaning right back and canting her hips again and whispering a soft and slightly satisfied, “alright, baby, alright” and you’re burning up from the inside-

And then everything goes white and still and silent because she’s burying two fingers inside of you and your breath catches in your throat, your eyes wide, a choked version of her name crackling in the open air from your gaping lips.

She doesn’t move- simply keeps her eyes locked with yours, her brow furrowed, her eyes shining- peers at you and puffs hard breaths out of those pink, kiss swollen lips- waits until you can’t stand it anymore and begin to move your own hips and then she’s moving in and out. It’s firm and hard but God it’s so slow and she looks at you so intently and she tells you- God she tells you, the words heavy in your mouth, stealing your breath and snaking pleasurably down your spine-

“You feel so fucking good, Waverly. So fucking good-“

And this, you find yourself thinking, this is what it’s supposed to feel like; not just the sex (but holy fuck is that turning out rather well and it’s only just beginning) but the intimacy, the connection- the wanting that you feel right now- the need to let this woman consume and ruin every part of you.

You’re gasping and closing your eyes and gritting your fingers into the skin of her back and marveling at the steady give and take, the motion you and Nicole have started when you feel her surrender completely, allowing the full weight of her body to fall into the cradle of your hips. Her head finds the crook of your neck, her lips the hollow, the lobe of your ear. It all begins to combine to be too much- the steady thrust of her into you, her fingers curling up and in, hitting the spot that Champ never could figure out how to manipulate, and along with desperate words, gasps, that she starts to spurt into your ear- it brings you to the edge, brings fire into your veins, far faster than you would like, and you’re stuck between the desire to surrender and allow your orgasm to crest over you or to prolong the experience. 

There’s something in you- something contrary and rebellious- that wins out in the end and before you really know what’s happening, you’re wrapping your legs around her hips and shifting and God, the pleasure, the thrust, changes, and you’re looking at her from above, the spinning in your head making sense as you realize that somewhere in the steady give and take, the thrust of her hand down against you and in you, that you’ve rolled your positions, her fingers now thrusting up and into you, your hips controlling the motion now, instead. And when the fog clears and the realization that you’re riding Nicole Haught’s hand- your own hands prone on her shoulders- fingers gripping into the bare flesh, palms pushing down to aid the steady and lazy roll of your hips, it rips a heady moan straight out of your chest and only spurs the heavy motion you’re making against her fingers.

“God, Waves...” she’s murmuring and you’re thankful for a moment that in the roll, in the shift that you had somehow pulled off, that you’d ended up with her face flush with yours, eyes open, lips brushing against one another with every hard jerk of your body, every heady exhale of your lips.

She wraps the arm that isn’t thrusting into you around your back, and you gasp as she resettles herself, scoots that little bit up the bed, her shoulders and back flush against the backboard, aware and present but allowing you still to command the pace, and the pleasure and the pressure. 

You both exist there in a pleasured haze for long moments, your breaths co-mingling, adding to the other sounds your bodies are making- the wet thrust of her fingers into you, the slide of your hips as they chase them down, the creak of the bed in time with your movements- and then she’s pulling your hair and you’re gasping up into the ceiling because she’s biting down your throat and tightening her hold on the strands on your hair and it’s all so much- too fucking much.

“Waverly, yes. God- does that feel good? You like it when I fuck you?”

And her words actually leave you groaning, your hips canting even harder as she curls her fingers, moves her thumb to your clit. 

Actually fucks you harder.

And you’ve never been this close this fast- never felt this dramatically close and mindless and-

Words, slurred and desperate fall out of your lips.

“Yes, yes, yes, please, Nic- God- I love it. Please don’t- don’t stop. I’m so- I’m so-“

And you can’t get the words out, the tension in your body growing tighter and tighter still as her hand leaves your hair, scrapes blunt nails down your back until she meets the skin of your hips. And she’s pulling your body until you’re pressed against one another once more- breast to breast, lips to lip, eyes boring into one another and God you’re so close and all you want to do is come but you also don’t want it to stop- not now, not ever- but the way she’s moving, the way her fingers- now three, Jesus- are moving in you- you know you’re not going to last much longer.

So you brace yourself on her shoulders even further, bore down on her fingers harder, and swallow the “yes, baby, come for me, please” that is echoing out of her lips like a fucking prayer and then- and then-

Stars and fire and a keening cry are all that you know as your orgasm pulses through you, her fingers thrusting once and then twice before hooking up and pressing against the spot that has had your mind reeling all night long. You’re falling and your eyes are closed and your knees knock against the bed as you ride the waves, ride the pulse of it all. 

Another few seconds and then everything stills. You whimper when she pulls her fingers from you slowly, your eyes opening just in time to meet her glazed eyes. Her glazed eyes that allow you to focus your own on for a second, softly, before that panting mouth is twisting upward in a mischievous smirk. A mischievous smirk that disappears altogether when her fingers- glistening in the dim light- delve between her lips. 

Your mouth, already agape, drops further and you feel yourself- spent- clench at the sight of her pink tongue coming out to skate the long slope of those fingers- God, those fingers that had just been twisting inside of you-

A tortured sound erupts from you and goddammit you want to hate her when those lips twitch up in a smug half smile even stretched around her fingers but you find your hips moving against her once more and yeah, you just came harder than you think you ever had before, but it doesn’t matter because you’re already game to go again and from the way her mouth is sucking on her pale fingers on one hand and the other is planting itself in the center of your chest and pushing softly until you’re on your back, braced up slightly on wobbly elbows, and tonguing her way up the inside of your thigh, you think she feels the same.

And you know that you’re going to have to speak and probably spill your guts out for the world and Nicole to see and then there’s the whole matter of the fact that you still haven’t satisfied your own curiosities about the officer’s glorious body but right now- right now when she’s telling you how good you taste and how good you sound, you can’t bring yourself to care. All you can bring yourself to do is lay back, bury your hands in her hair, and thank God for little black dresses.

**Author's Note:**

> Boom.
> 
> Drop me a line and let me know what you think. For anyone who's interested, I'm going to be uploading all of my other Rookie Blue stuff here, too. Stuff on ff and not. So there's that. Thanks for reading :)


End file.
